Odes to the Forgotten
by cplns
Summary: The forgotten and unloved one-shot characters and monsters of Pokemon need a voice, too.
1. One Into Four

_AN: One never really thinks about the minor characters of the Poke-world. I mean, we all know Ash, Pikachu, Red - but what about the random Team Rocket grunt you crushed on your way through Goldenrod City, or the Clefable belonging to a trainer on Victory Road, so eager to get to the Pokemon League? Even that damn Zubat that won't seem to leave you alone ever has a story to tell. This is a series of short one-shots exploring the lives of our poor, forgotten characters._

_As always, I own none of it - because if I did we might hear more from some of these characters._

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**One Into Four**

Sometimes, I just don't know who I am anymore.

I mean, I know – used to, at least. I was a fighter. Strong, agile, a formidable opponent for anyone. Well, except those damn psychics. They're crazy.

But I could punch with the best of them. Sparred every day. Not that I needed the practice. But it made my trainer happy to see that she had such a strong fighter on her team. My fists would help her conquer the world.

We took the first few gyms no problem. The rock guy was stunned to see such a great new trainer. Lightning guy was out in just a few quick jabs. She trained me to fight. I fought. And we fought great together.

Then that damn psychic. She was terrifying. Made stuff float in the air in front of us and everything. I can't stand up to that kind of power. Our first loss – ever – came at her hands.

My trainer was sad at first, wanted to stop traveling. To give up. But I reminded her that we were fighters, and for a while things were good again. But then she started with the new moves.

Those little discs. I came to dread seeing them glint in the sun, because it meant I was about to lose a part of myself.

They'll make you better, she told me. Stronger. We were at something called a type disadvantage. So, she said, I would have to learn to fight different, hit with moves that could actually touch the psychics.

No fighting, she said. Elements.

The first disc was okay – great, even. As soon as she used it on me, she asked if I felt different. I did. I felt powerful.

Excited, I let out a few punches to test my new ability. Fire exploded from my knuckles. I couldn't get enough of my new strength. It felt good controlling an element like that. I was now a fighter with an advantage.

So. I could punch with fire. And my other attacks were more powerful as well. Faster. Surely, I thought, we could take that psychic now. But my trainer wasn't sure. Called me a one-trick Pokémon.

I didn't have one trick. I had four. Why didn't she see that?

Three days later came the second disc. This one made me feel cold. She told me to punch the air, and reluctantly I obeyed. Ice. My fists froze the air around them, and crystals fell to the grass. She cheered and rattled off the types I'd now be able to defeat.

Psychic. Grass. Dragons. _Dragons_. She was really excited about that last one. I'd never seen a dragon. They sounded scary, though, so I suppose I was glad.

A week later, I wondered why she hadn't tried to fight the psychic again. We were stronger. We had been training, and armed with my fire and ice, and my pure fighter's _strength_, I was sure we could take her. I guess she didn't believe that, because early that morning came the third. She was stripping away my moves – me – so that we would have a better chance against this one psychic.

Lightning this time. An element I already knew I was better than, and I was reduced to using it myself. One left, though. My most powerful punch. I could still be a fighter.

_Please. Let me keep one._

She didn't. Another punch, of course. But... this one confused me. It didn't feel as strong, as dominating. Weaker. Just... a punch. Normal type, she said. Just to round out the set. We probably wouldn't even use it.

Fire, ice, lightning. Normal. I wasn't a fighter anymore. Just... normal. Everything and nothing. I had no idea who I was anymore.

But she was happy. I had four tricks now.


	2. Rage

**Rage**

The Lake of Rage, despite its name, was peaceful and quiet. Life there was rather predictable – swim around a bit, snack. It stopped raining every Wednesday. Sometimes one could see our betters, the Gyarados, swimming or flying about, but they were mercifully few and far between. If you weren't too careful, though, or swam too close to the shore, it was easy to be snatched up by a random trainer, to be forced to live out the rest of your natural life in a battling team.

We Magikarp weren't sure, at first, where our friends went when they were captured. We watched as human after human rode on the backs of other Pokémon, gliding over the ripples in the lake until one of our number was in sight. A battle would ensue – a rather one-sided one, naturally, since we are not born fighters. After a few futile splashes, the human usually decided that our friend was not worth taking. Those days were difficult. It was hard to find a suitable place around the lake to lay them to rest.

Other days, though – rare days – the human would see past our weakness, see our true potential. In a flash of red light, our friend would disappear. I have lost a few of my brothers this way. I still wonder every day if they are alright.

Every once in a while, after a friend leaves us this way, we have a chance to see them again. Their humans return, months, years later, and our friend had by then turned into a full-fledged fighter, usually one of our betters. At first we would be reassured; obviously, yes, this human was caring for him well, and there was hope that being snatched did not mean the end of a happy life.

Invariably, however, the human would order him to attack his old family. And, invariably, with a pained apology, he would, as he was unable to disobey. Those were worse days. Those were the days we had to mourn the loss of more than one friend.

Thankfully, those days did not come often, and for the most part, we were happy. I was happy.

It was Wednesday, and there was no rain at the Lake of Rage. I lazed around the low waters, enjoying the sun's rare waves over my scales, watching some of my younger siblings swimming and playing. We were well away from the shore, away from those who would snatch us with their poles and nets, and the humans who fought for fun.

The hum of insects rose into the summer air; I could faintly hear them above the surface of the water. Soon, though, another buzzing joined it – light at first, then louder, until it drowned out every other sound. High-pitched and painful, the sound seemed to bore a hole through my ears and into my brain. And before the pain in my head could fade, the rest of my body felt it as well.

A bright, white light surrounded and blinded me. My fins elongated and changed shape. I felt my body stretch until it felt like I would rip apart. The single most painful experience of my life, and I had no idea what was happening. I supposed this is what happened to my brothers when they changed into our betters. I still feel sorry for them – how confused they must have felt!

When the light faded, the lake was far below me. It seemed much smaller now. Or I was bigger, I realized, staring at my reflection in the water. Bright blue with fangs. I was menacing, the same monster we saw returning to destroy its friends.

My friends.

I thrashed in the middle of the lake for what must have been hours, still in pain, still confused. I had never battled before, so how had I become this monster? Careful not to hurt any of my friends, I flailed about until the sun set, not knowing what else to do or even how to control this gigantic body.

Once I tired, I sat on the surface, hopeless. And of course, once I tired, a young human in a red hat appeared in front of me, riding on the back of one of his fighters. I was no match for him, but he saw my potential.

The world outside of the lake's shores... is terrible. Full of fighting and anger, people who battle for fun or, worse, to harm others. Every day, I marveled at how lucky I was to be born into the calm of the Lake of Rage. I soon discovered how different the world was from the happiness I had known.

Months later, the human brought me back to the place I was born. A distant part of my mind told me I should feel excited to see my friends, to swim in the lake as I had so long ago.

When the red light of my small home faded, I looked around, and the lake suddenly seemed so small, everything in it so weak. Everyone lazing in the low waters, defenseless, ignorant of all the horrors the world contained, while there were things to be done. It was Wednesday. There was no rain.

And I finally understood the rage that could cause one to attack his brethren.


	3. Name

**Name**

They told us since the start we had no names.

It isn't important who you are, they said. We don't care. All that matters is the success and glory of Team Rocket. You're expendable.

Means you're a grunt, and they can throw you away if they want. You're not as important as the higher-ups, so you don't mean nothing to them.

Whatever. Sounded good to me. Three squares and a decent paycheck was enough to get me on my feet. Sleeping outside in Goldenrod City got cold sometimes, so I don't care what they call me as long as I get paid.

Still, wish they treated us better. I sit up on the fourth floor of the Radio Tower for hours at a time, and what do they give me to defend myself? Two Zubats and a Grimer. I'm a good trainer, though, raised one of the Zubat to be a Golbat so that I'd have a chance in a battle. Make the best of what you got, right?

I know the higher-ups, the Rocket executives are upstairs somewhere. No one told us what they were plotting, or why we were standing guard in the Radio Tower in the first place. None of your damn business, Proton told us when some other grunt asked. Just do your job. Protect us.

That Proton, he's a scary guy. Thought he would punch that guy back there. Still, hope I can get strong and powerful enough to be like him. Maybe then someone'll remember me by something other than my badge number. Or worse, "you, there!"

Nothing exciting ever happens up here. If there's ever someone stupid enough to try and get upstairs, the grunts on the floors below me beat them first. No one gets up to the fourth floor. So it's hard for me to stay focused, see? And you can't blame me for dozing off on the job.

I made the mistake of letting Ariana, another executive, see me like that, nodding off against the wall as she walked up the stairs. She slapped me on the face hard enough to wake me up, and told me to recite the Team Rocket oath. Her favorite way to punish us.

"Steal Pokémon for profit," I repeated from perfect memory. I know it so well because when you first join, they lash it into you until you can say it in your sleep. "Exploit Pokémon for profit. All Pokémon exist for the glory of Team Rocket."

But even as I finished I heard her grumble something about "what a waste" as she went up the stairs. She didn't even look at my face.

Hours pass, and nothing happens. It must be nearly nighttime by now, but I'm afraid to fall asleep again since Ariana could pass me on the stairs. Can't wait for my relief to get here.

I hear footsteps coming up the stairs next to me, and I sigh in relief. Finally, now I can go home, get some rest. You know, not have to think about this place. But when a person finally appears, the first thing I notice is she don't have on a Team Rocket uniform. She's young, really young – ten or eleven, maybe.

Still, I don't let my guard down. If she's here, she must have beaten everyone downstairs. Means she's strong. I pull out a Pokéball, leading with Zubat. Now's my chance to prove myself. Do your job, protect everyone upstairs, and prove to them I'm a good trainer. First step to getting upstairs myself.

The battle's over almost as quick as it started. The girl is just too strong. She acts just like Ariana, just passes me up without so much as looking at my face. As I run to make a call to tell the higher-ups, I realize she won't even remember battling me tomorrow.

Whatever. Let her go battle the executives upstairs. The ones that actually have names. I get paid either way.


	4. Ghost

**Ghost**

For two thousand years, I've waited.

Every year passes more slowly than the last. I look over the water surrounding my peak, the wind blowing through my hair and caressing my face the way you never can again, and I remember with perfect clarity the day you left me.

_I won't be gone long, _you told me, slinging your armor over your shoulder. _The country needs me. I will do anything to protect it, and you. But I promise – I will return to you soon._

I watched from this cliff as you boarded your ship; your helmet made you look the same as all of the other brave soldiers, but I could always recognize you. I didn't lose sight of you until your ship disappeared over the horizon.

"I'll wait for you forever," I called out over the sea, knowing that you couldn't hear me over its roar. "Come back to me. Farewell."

The ship had been gone for hours, and as the sun set, I vowed not to move from the cliff until you returned to me. For the first few days, my mother and sisters tried to convince me to come inside from the cool ocean air, to eat dinner or at least have a bit of tea. They reminded me that my handsome soldier would one day return. But you told me you wouldn't be gone long, and so I waited.

Every day, I pleaded into the breeze: "I'm waiting for you. Come back to me. Return to your beloved." I prayed that the wind would carry my message to you, and I would awake one morning to see your ship on the horizon.

My prayer was never answered. One evening – two years exactly from the day you left me – a helmet washed onto the beach below the cliff. I watched as it crashed with the waves onto the rocky shore, and a tear slid down my cheek. I knew that you would never return.

I am not sure of the day I died – I believe it was the day you left – but the cliffs claimed my physical body not three days later. I was tired. I didn't think I could wait anymore. But my spirit remained, waiting and watching over the edge, hoping against hope to catch sight of your sails.

The next summer came and went, and still nothing. But as the summer air cooled, a Pokémon appeared to me, a ghost no more tangible than I now was. He introduced himself as Gastly and asked me to tell him my story. Gastly listened to me the way my mother and sisters never did. He sympathized with me, and afterward he told me something that, even now, two thousand years later, I haven't forgotten.

_If you can't have your brave young man, why should any other woman be so happy?_

From that point on, Gastly and I worked together every year. He would tell people my story, show them to the cliff where I waited. And once a year, as summer ended, I would find a happy couple, let the man fall in love with me, and lure him over the cliff, where he belonged: with me, and not with the woman who didn't deserve him.

Eventually, the village in which I once lived disappeared and gave way to a fairgrounds for a tourist trap of a festival. The Summer's End festival came once a year; and once a year I would claim another man; and every year the festival-goers lit candles and sent them out to sea, hoping that I would follow and leave them alone for good. I never did.

* * *

This year, my target was a young, handsome man, on vacation from a faraway city. He was hardly older than my physical self, with short, messy hair and sparkling eyes. Newly wedded, he and his wife were celebrating their decision to start a Pokémon journey together. I might have felt sorry for them, but the woman was frightfully overbearing and dictated every decision her husband made, down to the dinner they bought. She didn't know how to make her husband happy. She didn't deserve him like I did.

I appeared on the pier and let my hair blow in the sea breeze, knowing that he would spot me as he walked. Indeed, he stopped walking and I heard him ask, "That girl – who _is _that?"

I toyed with him for the rest of the evening, materializing in front of only him, vanishing when his wife demanded to know who he was talking about. I put on my most alluring, most longing face, to ensure that I would have him charmed by late that night.

As we did every year, Gastly and I had an unspoken agreement. He made sure that this man and I would not be disturbed, hypnotizing his wife as she readied herself for bed. She wouldn't wake before the sun rose, when it was already too late.

And of course, just like all the others, he came to me just before midnight, without his witch of a wife. "You!" he exclaimed, and his voice lilted with the trance I placed over him. "It's really you."

"My love," I whispered, reaching to caress his face, knowing he would only think he felt my touch. "I've been waiting for you."

As I predicted, he closed his eyes in contentment. "What can I do to be with you?"

I beckoned for him to follow, and began the short walk from the pier to the clifftops. I sensed a bit of hesitation; he must not have been completely under my spell yet. No matter. I turned and smiled again, and he began to hover just inches from the ground, following against his will.

We reached the the steep drop together, the scent of autumn blowing in from the ocean. My shrine was such a beautiful place for an end.

The man stopped at the fence that had been built in a desperate attempt to stop me, but I continued, floating through it until I hovered in thin air, a few feet from the edge. I turned and smiled, and I saw him reaching out longingly to me, stretching over the fence. I reached out as well, until our fingertips were mere inches away.

"Please," he pleaded, and I already saw him start to lift his foot to climb over. I only floated farther out over the edge.

"Come to me. I've been waiting for you."

In a flash, I saw him leap, felt the wind as he fell through me, and watched his bones shatter upon meeting the rocky shore below.

* * *

The next night brought the end of the festival. I watched from my cliff the lit candles and lanterns floating out to sea, smiling as they tried to draw me away again. I saw the spirit of the young man, staring up at me with that same longing as I had seen the night before. As far as I knew, he would feel that longing for the next two thousand years.

He followed the tiny boats until they, and he, disappeared over the horizon, just as my brave soldier did so many years ago.

I then caught sight of Gastly, who pretended to float away with the candles as he did every year. He smiled up at me, and warm gratitude flowed through me. He was the only one who truly loved me.

"Thank you, Gastly," I called out, and I heard his deep voice as the sun started to rise.

_My pleasure._


End file.
